


When the Lion Rests Beside the Lamb

by fernsintheforest



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Gisela does not exist, Hand Kisses, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sex Dreams, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Threesome, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whump, baby's first fic, possibly dubcon kiss?, sick uhtred, worried Alfred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2020-09-25 06:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20371966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernsintheforest/pseuds/fernsintheforest
Summary: Uhtred and Alfred are two men with the most weighing on them in the world. What better place to find solace than with each other?(My first fic posted on here!!! Please let me know what you think!!!)





	1. A Surprising Dane Custom

**Author's Note:**

> So like, yeah, I absolutely love these two. They have so much on-screen chemistry, and I wish they'd had more, so this happened. Chapter two is coming :)

“Uhtred,” Beocca knocked on the doorframe of the rightful-ealdorman room. Uhtred had been asleep far past sunrise, which was when he was always first rising to train. Then again, it was not unusual for him to stay up late at night; perhaps this was the case.  
After Beocca knocked, Uhtred groaned from his bed, which was unlike him. He offered no response, nor moved.  
“It is time to get up,” Beocca continued, slower this time.  
He groaned again, writhing a bit before releasing a breath the dissipated to panting.  
“Uhtred, are you alright?”  
The Priest went to his bedside, noting his reduced pallor and profuse sweating. He laid two cool hands on either of his cheeks.  
“You are simply burning up!”  
“Beo...cca…?” he murmured, his eyelids parting and revealing two glassy eyes in a dreamlike state. His cheeks were flushed.  
Not wasting any time, Beocca peeled off Uhtred's sweat-stained shirt and yelled for the nearest person to call a medic.  
The Priest ripped a piece from the sheet, beginning to wipe the sweat from the warrior's heaving body.  
"Beocca...what...?" Uhtred tried to speak, but the monk shushed him.  
"Don't try to speak. You're very ill."  
“We've called for the medics, father!” The previous monks returned.  
“Good. Fill a bowl with water and bring it to the bedside. Quickly!” Beocca refocused on Uhtred, noting the sheen over his half-lidded eyes. “Stay awake, Uhtred. Your fever is exceptionally high.”  
The monks returned with a large bowl of cold water shortly, and Beocca wasted no time drenching Uhtred's fevered skin in it. After a few baths in it, he seemed to relax, and the sweating stopped. He slowly went back to sleep, his brow furrowed and pale lips parted.  
With a sigh, father Beocca ordered the monks to watch over him. "I will attend Lord Alfred's meeting today on his behalf. You are to alert me immediately if his condition changes."

***

Walking down to Alfred's personal library, the walls lined with his scrolls and maps, Beocca was met with several men standing around silently, expectantly. Between them was a table with a large map spread across it's surface. At it's head was Alfred himself, seated on his royal throne with his circlet of authority placed around his temples. The same placid, mysterious look was in his brown eyes as he watched Beocca hurriedly enter.  
"Father Beocca," Alfred began, "perhaps you can answer for Uhtred's tardiness?"  
“Forgive him, Lord,” Beocca began quickly, "He has been taken extremely ill. I will be filling for his absence, if that's alright."  
Alfred knit his brow in concern. Something in his face looked deeply troubled; uncharacteristic for his solemn personality. He thought a moment, then spoke. “Unfortunate to hear.”  
“Please, don't stop on my account," Beocca encouraged, "Let us continue.”  
They continued on, but Alfred's mind seemed elsewhere throughout the meeting. Twice, when addressed, the question or matter had to be repeated to the King, and his brow periodically re-knit as his mind seemed to wander.  
As the meeting wore on, one of the monks from the room appeared in the library in a great rush. He bowed his head momentarily as all of the men turned to look at him. Beocca's heart dropped into his stomach.  
"Uhtred, is he alright?!"  
The monk stammered. "H-His fever, Father; it's risen again."  
Beocca turned to Alfred with wide eyes, and before he could even speak, Alfred nodded. "Go to him, Father. Waste no time!"  
The Priest bowed quickly and broke from the room. Alfred watched the entryway silently for a moment, then shook free from his thoughts and looked to his advisors. "That will be all."

***

It was a few hours before Alfred decided to go to his most valiant warrior's bedside. There was something strange about going to one of his subjects, rather than them coming to him. Then again, Uhtred never really considered himself one of his subjects. Entering the threshold of Uhtred's room, Alfred wondered again what he was doing there. He tipped the door open; Beocca looking up at him. Uhtred lay motionless in the bed, pale and drawn. He appeared to be asleep.  
“My lord,” Beocca said.  
“How is he?" he asked, trying to keep his voice a firm, indifferent tone.  
The Priest sighed. "He...will live. It seems to just be a fever. I suppose it happens to even the strongest of us, occasionally."  
Alfred fought to suppress a breath of relief at the news. He nodded, and lingered at the foot of Uhtred’s bed for a minute, looking at the sleeping man in silent observation. The warrior seemed so harmless, now, in his restful state, and it was so strange to see him in this new, unfiltered light.  
Beocca, sensing the King's thoughtfulness, stood. "Excuse me, Lord." He exited the room.  
The King continued to watch Uhtred, whispering to himself, "If you are not my subject, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, what are you?"  
Suddenly, the addressed man cracked open his eyes with a shuddering cough.  
“Why do you watch me so, King Alfred,” Uhtred asked in a low, hoarse whisper, “am I so interesting in my weakened state?”  
Alfred smiled coyly. “The only way to observe the lion is in his sleep, you know.”  
Uhtred returned a small smile in a playful manner. “Were I a lion, I would not allow myself to be contained in these walls.”  
“Do these walls not please you?”  
Uhtred shifted, the smile still lingering on his lips. “Were I a lion.”  
Alfred walked stiffly closer to the bed. “May I?”  
“Yes,” Uhtred responded with a hint of amusement.  
Alfred sat on the edge of Uhtred’s bed. “Does my request humor you?”  
“No, no,” Uhtred said, rubbing his eyes and rolling on his back. “I only thought of a story Father Beocca taught me years ago. One from the Bible.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yes. When the lamb chooses to rest beside the lion, knowing it has nothing to fear.”  
Alfred smiled, and Uhtred was surprised at how much his solemn face lightened up when he did so. He liked it much better.  
“Tell me, Uhtred, what ailment has befallen you?”  
“None for a reason I can tell you, lord. I thought it was a dream at first, if I'm perfectly honest. I dreamt of my father, and the day he was slain. I…dreamt also of Iseult.”  
“Do you dream of her often?” Alfred asked, picking up a wet rag from the bowl of water from the nightstand and beginning dab Uhtreds face with it.  
“I think of her often. Sometimes I wonder what she must have thought of me, moments before she was killed.”  
“You needn’t think about such things now. Only rest. And heal.”  
“I will try.”  
Just as Alfred stood to leave, Uhtred caught his hand. “I hope you do not think less of me if I were to chastely kiss your hand in gratitude?”  
Alfred raised an eyebrow, and then put it down. “I suppose not.”  
Uhtred brought the back of Alfred's soft hand against his lips, then flipping it and kissing the palm, and then each finger tip.  
“Is this Dane custom?” Alfred asked with a small blush.  
With one final squeeze, Uhtred released the King's hand. “Yes.”


	2. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred makes an unexpected confession to Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but don't worry, the next one will be worth it :0

The next morning, Uhtred’s fever was down considerably. But Beocca insisted he stay in bed to prevent it’s return.  
Alfred thought frequently of the previous evening's conversation with the supposed Dane. Their words had been filled with intent, though the intent was unknown to him. He thought of what Uhtred had said.  
“When the lamb chooses to rest beside the lion, knowing it has nothing to fear.”  
Uhtred had inadvertently called his king a lamb. Alfred walked across his chambers to look in a mirror. He was no lion, though he wore a powerful and intimidating exterior; he was not strong nor mighty, like Uhtred. He sickly and, admittedly, on the small side. Perhaps he was a lamb. He then looked down at his hand. Was it really Dane custom to kiss the hand in such a way to show gratitude? It didn't seem very Dane-like, but if it was simply custom…what did Alfred know of Danes, anyway? Perhaps in other customs they did even more.  
There was a knock at his door.  
“Enter.”  
Father Beocca creaked the door open. “My lord,” he said.  
“How is Uhtred?”  
“He requests to see you.”

Alfred and Beocca entered Uhtred’s room, who was now sitting mostly up and still donned no shirt. His masculine, muscular figure looked like a statue of some pagen god.  
“My lord Alfred, I must speak to you,” Uhtred said, averting his eyes to his hands, “alone.”  
“Leave us,” Alfred told Beocca, who nodded and left.  
“Is this an urgent matter?”  
“It is.” Uhtred beckoned him closer with an outstretched arm, and Alfred slowly walked near. “My lord, I come to you an ill man. A defenseless man. A man who holds nothing but the truth.”  
“And what is your truth?”  
Uhtred hesitated, then hesitated again. “I thought last evening that I was in a fevered stupor. I thought my emotions would dissipate with my illness. But my lord Alfred, think nothing of me if you do not feel the same. I...I feel... things for you, lord.”  
“What do you feel?” _Loyalty? Anger?_  
Uhtred’s mouth was frozen in words he wanted desperately to say, but couldn’t. A moment passed, then the warrior looked down at his hands again. “I believe it is love.”  
Alfred stopped, staring at Uhtred.  
“Do you jest?”  
“I come to you with nothing but the truth.”  
The room seemed to freeze. Uhtred, normally wild and reckless, was quiet; his face soft with anxiety and candor. Alfred’s heart beat erratically. Did it beat with surprise? Anger? Fear? Perhaps all three.  
“And you would think it would be wise to tell a Christian man of your sodomite ways?”  
Hopelessness filled Uhtred face. “If I withheld my feelings any longer, it would drive me mad.”  
Alfred’s heart was beating a million miles an hour. He could've believed it to be palpitations if he wasn't in the circumstances he was.  
“I don't know how they behave in your Dane custom, Uhtred,” Alfred said, hiding the stumble of his words with sharpness, “but among Saxons, sodomy is punishable. I suggest you repress your emotions.”  
Uhtred nodded, looking quite crushed.  
“...Forgive me, lord.”  
Alfred nodded, walking swiftly out of the room.

***

That night, Alfred awoke in a sweaty, writhing mess. His dreams had been sinful. He threw off his bed sheet to cool himself, swinging his legs off his bed and walking barefoot across the stone floor.  
His thoughts still lingered on the dream. Uhtred had overtaken him, dominated him with kisses and euphoria. Never in his life had Alfred felt such a way about sex. No woman had ever made him feel like that; like he was a lover, and not a King.  
But it was just a dream.  
Alfred was no stranger to denying himself. This would be no different. Besides, he had Aelswith, his wife. He loved her. He cared for her. How could he possibly feel anything for the wild, reckless Dane? How many times had he cursed Uhtred’s name for his foolishness? He couldn’t possibly feel for him the way he felt for Aelswith.  
Should anyone hear their Christian king had feelings for a pagen Dane, what would happen? It would be madness. Chaos. No, it must never be known.  
Alfred went back to sleep, and dreamt of nothing.


	3. The Broken Olive Branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred watches Uhtred train, Uhtred challenges Alfred in the Witan, and other surprising things happen between the warrior and king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter to make up for the last one being short. I stayed up til five AM to finish this, but it's worth it. :0 Please enjoy; next chapter coming soon! *rolls to bed*  
(P.S. This is taking place at the beginning of season two. There is some canon divergence; this is basically the same but if Uhtred had been there.)

Uhtred knew Alfred liked to watch him train. Often he would see the King standing and watching from the overhang whilst the warrior fought in the courtyard. Something about it made Uhtred always want to preform better, though he wasn’t sure of that reason why, either. Perhaps he wanted to show off. But the King would watch him emotionlessly, often with his wife at his side, then eventually walk away.  
He had been down with his illness for much longer than he would have liked to have been, as per Beocca’s insistance, and he had become very restless in his recovery. It was a welcome change to be able to go out to the courtyard and train with his sword.  
The familiar hilt felt comfortable in his hand as he wielded it, striking the mailed dummy before him. He hit it from either side, swinging around full circle before slicing into its side. In one swift blow, he severed it’s straw head from it’s neck and sent it sailing across the courtyard.  
Suddenly, he felt the unmistakable feeling that he was being watched. Turning to where he felt the prickle of prying eyes on his neck, he saw Alfred standing alone under the overhang, where the grass met the stone floor. This was not the first time he had found the King watching him as he trained, in fact, it was only one of many times. But he stopped, looking to the unreadable face of the Saxon King, before nodding briefly and turning back to the dummy.  
There was an air of tension between the two men, now that they had identified each other. Though it had been a few days, the memory of Uhtred’s fevered confession was alive and well in both of their minds. He wished he hadn’t said a word of his private desires to Alfred. Especially now, knowing how he had reacted; ashamed, disgusted. He remembered every sharp word.  
“_I don't know how they behave in your Dane custom, Uhtred, but among Saxons, sodomy is punishable. I suggest you repress your emotions._”  
Uhtred had had countless lovers throughout his life. That was one of the many ways Saxons were different from Danes. The pious people were so fearful of the Lord that they denied every sexual urge they had; sometimes it seemed like everything that might bring them joy they considered a sin. Danes did as they pleased. They fought as they pleased, drank as they pleased, but most importantly, loved as they pleased. Uhtred couldn’t remember the last time he was without a woman to hump. Women admired him for his strength and courage, and he’d almost always had his pick.  
Never before had he fancied a man before he met Alfred. It certainly wasn’t instantaneous. In fact, when he first met the King he bitterly frustrated him with his slow, methodical way of planning of battle--or the lack thereof. They would publically clash nearly every time they had to speak. It was becoming insufferable to the point where Uhtred barely tolerated speaking to him.  
Then he saw Alfred in his library.  
There was no reason this should have changed anything in the way Uhtred felt about the king. It was late in the evening, and Uhtred had just come up from dinner. He was coming in, albeit with a bit of hostility, to speak with Alfred about a decision he had made without Uhtred's knowledge. But just before he entered, he was stopped in his tracks. Alfred, his features softly illuminated by the spiral of candles that cluttered the room, was quietly reading one of his many, many scrolls. There was an expression on his face of complete, content placidity, that obscured his usual, cold visage so distinctly that he almost appeared to be an entirely different person.  
Something was so captivatingly different about this unveiled version of the Saxon King. The warrior hid in the shadows, just out of sight, taking a lingering moment to watch him as his nimble fingers traced down the page; his clever mind working quickly beneath his brow. He seemed so peaceful and thoughtful, without his brow furrowed or his hazel eyes filled with withdrawn frigidness. The metal crown didn’t weigh down his face. His lips were not pursed in that stiff, unfeeling line. The King was at ease. It then occurred to Uhtred that he had never seen Alfred at ease before.  
There was something so bewitching about that night, and Uhtred never forgot it. When he spoke to Alfred the next day, he had resumed his stony demeanor. They had fought, argued, and, as usual, Alfred had ordered him out. Business as usual. But Uhtred never truly stopped thinking about that gentler version of the King he had secretly witnessed that night in the library.  
Now, with Alfred watching him, he couldn’t help but to think of the memory, now long passed. As he broke free from his thoughts, he realized he had decimated another two dummies.  
“Impressive, Uhtred,” came a solitary compliment from the overhang.  
Uhtred turned, wiping the sweat from his brow. He couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he replied, “Do you think so?”  
Alfred briefly raised his eyebrows. “I am glad to have you fighting for me, rather than against me.”  
Again, Uhtred nodded to him vaguely, and the Saxon King turned, and walked down the corridor. As he went, the Dane watched him, considering what he could’ve possibly said in response. Uhtred was particularly good at always having something to say, but his mind was blank. Perhaps this was Alfred extending him a formal olive branch for his lapse in emotion last night.  
It was just as well. He should have never mentioned it in the first place.  
Gripping the hilt of his sword, Uhtred slashed through the third dummy in one strike.

***

Alfred could have throttled that cursed Dane.  
He hadn’t slept a single night since Uhtred had made his unexpected confession. Every time he closed his eyes he would have...dreams of a passionate nature about the warrior, and he would wake up burning hot and in a sheen of sweat. His lack of sleep was making him sharp and irritable. He wondered what it would take to rid the sinful, impure thoughts from his mind. If the reckless Dane had not mentioned his own pagen desires, Alfred would not be suffering as he was now.  
He was not always blind to the very distinguishing qualities that Uhtred held. The very qualities he often criticised Uhtred for--his recklessness, his foolish tongue, his brashness--were always of great aggravation to Alfred. But, in the same vein, there was something about his bravery, the very same boldness that so often got him into trouble, that Alfred secretly admired. He was raw, and masculine, and so powerful when he wielded his sword--when he watched Uhtred practice in the courtyard, a tight knot would appear in his chest. Perhaps it was envy. Perhaps it wasn’t.  
Either way, Alfred prayed. He prayed to God more than he ever had, to free him from his plaguing thoughts and dreams, but it seemed God never answered. Beocca took notice of his increased time spent knelt at the alter, and commended him.  
“God hears your prayers, Lord,” he assured him, “You are an upright and Godly man. God will reward you for your loyalty.”  
For a moment, Alfred considered confiding in the priest his issue with the dreams. He had confided in him before with his fleshly temptations. But he decided against it; Beocca knew Uhtred too well, and the prospect of the warrior’s confession getting out was too costly.  
“Thank you, Father Beocca. I will keep that in mind.”

***

Since their great success in securing Wessex, a gathering of nearly every ealdorman took place in Alfred’s kingdom to bask in the victory, though Alfred knew entirely well that not all who attended were worthy of doing so. It irritated the tired king, but it was nothing he would mention as he addressed the crowd. It was his duty as leader to make it clear his plans for the future of the kingdom, so he donned his crown, and walked with his wife and daughter to the Witan.  
He was greeted by a room full of aging men sitting and standing around, talking amongst themselves. Uhtred stood at the forefront, keeping to himself with his arms crossed. They met eyes, and then both immediately averted them as Alfred took to the front of the room.  
“Wessex is safe,” the King began. This was met with cheers.  
“But, ealdormen,” he continued, raising his hand for silence, “to keep Wessex safe we must now look beyond it’s borders. To Mercia, East Anglia, to Cornwalum, Wales, and to the North. To Northumbria, and to the once great and holy city of Eoferwic, where now, Christian men and women suffer under the dark rule of the Danes.”  
A rumble of sympathy for those suffering shuddered through the crowd, but Uhtred remain still, a tinge of offense in his expression at the chosen words.  
“There are two Northman, Sigfried and Erik; two godless brothers with a voracious appetite for land, silver, slaves, and war.” Alfred spoke with great authority, and gestured with each word he said. “I want it known, and I want them to know, that God, Alfred, and the ealdormen of Wessex are watching.”  
He paused at length, then added intently, “The day of reckoning, will come!”  
The men all cheered again, and Alfred prepared to turn away, when he heard Uhtred’s rumbling voice break through the cheers.  
“It seems Sigfried and Erik are not the only ones with an appetite for war.”  
Alfred turned, feeling his face beginning to heat up with anger. Uhtred just could not stand not to pick a fight with him every time he had an audience, could he?  
“Is there a problem, Uhtred?” Alfred asked, monotonously.  
With a scoff, the warrior replied, “No, Lord, there is not. The problem ended when we drove the Vikings from Wessex. But you seem determined to create another one.”  
Trying to remain as calm and formal as possible, Alfred spread his hands. “Tell me, then Uhtred, what would you have us do? Allow the innocent lives of the Eoferwic people to continue to be taken by the Danes?”  
“To spare the men who narrowly survived your latest endeavor, Lord, yes. You think our army is unending? Are these men dispensable, but those in Eoferwic are not?!” Uhtred began to raise his voice, and the room grew deathly silent. A moment passed.  
“Uhtred, you are not to disrespect me in front of my own council,” Alfred replied, his voice, though still calm, taking on a deadly serious tone. “This matter is not up for discussion. If you have an issue with my decision, you can take it up with me privately.”  
“No, we will discuss this _now_!” Uhtred shouted in response, “I will not be ignored as if I’m some sort of--”  
“_Dane?!_” Alfred’s face was flush with rage. The silence that followed was thick.  
Uhtred stared straight into the King with a gaze made of pure ice. His jaw worked under the skin. For a moment, it looked as if he would say more, but after a moment, he turned on his heels and left the room.  
“Dismissed,” Alfred said, returning to his placid, reserved voice. He turned, and left the opposite side of the room.

***

Alfred walked swiftly down the hallway to his library, still steaming from the warrior’s behavior in the Witan earlier that day. He was bound and determined to make a fool out of Alfred in every public circumstance. Well, he would make it clear to him that if he did not learn to conduct himself in a proper manner in future gatherings, he would be permanently removed from them.  
Suddenly, Alfred stopped in his tracks. Part of the way down the hall, he could see Uhtred just ahead of him, leaning against a pillar, waiting for him.  
“Forgive me, Lord King, I don’t mean to offend you with my presence,” Uhtred said bitterly.  
“You will do well to remember that I am your King, and it is your duty to address me with respect. Especially in an audience.”  
“And you would do well to remember who fights your battles, _King_.”  
Finally, Alfred’s patience snapped. “You will watch your tongue!”  
“I owe nothing to a foolish King!” Uhtred yelled, stepping dangerously close.  
“Uhtred of Bebbanburg, I will not tolerate this--!”  
And in the next second, Uhtred grasped the front of Alfred’s tunic and crashed their lips together in a hot, desperate, wild kiss.  
The Dane’s lips were rough and tasted of ale. For a moment, Alfred clung to his powerful wrists while Uhtred’s hands still held fast to his tunic. A rush of adrenaline passed through his body that made his hair stand on end.  
Then Alfred quickly pulled away in almost a panic, panting. He looked at Uhtred with absolute bewilderment--maybe even horror--with wide eyes, pink cheeks and glistening lips.  
“Lord, wait--”  
“Stay away from me,” Alfred whispered, his voice wavering.  
The king turned and walked briskly down the hallway. Uhtred tried to call after him, but the words were stuck on his lips. He watched the Saxon King go, and wondered what he had done.


	4. Confession is Good for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred seeks out Alfred at the altar to discuss what happened, and the men consider each other’s facades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to upload this last night but ao3 was down. Things are about to get interesting ;) Big huge thanks to Honeyfaun for sending me some great ideas for this fic on tumblr!!!! You da best<3

Three days passed since the uncomfortable moment the warrior and king shared, and they walked on eggshells to avoid one another at any cost. For the full three days, they didn’t meet each other’s eyes. The tension between the two men was palpable by those around them, but it was assumed it was residual aggravation from the fight that happened in the Witan.  
Beocca spoke candidly to him on one occasion, taking such distinct notice of the rift between them that he felt the need to address it.  
“My lord, I can’t help but to notice that you and Uhtred seem to be...at an impasse.”  
“You are observant, Father,” Alfred said dryly.  
Beocca laughed shortly, but when it was not reciprocated, he continued. “Forgive me if I overstep, Lord, but it is my fear that if you grow too harsh with him, you will damage your ties with your most valuable warrior. Uhtred has done more for your kingdom than you may realize.”  
“And he has given me more frustrations than you may realize,” he retorted, then sighed. “Uhtred has pledged his allegiance to me. If he were to abandon his position, he would be in direct defiance to me. I am not a man to be the enemy of, Father.”  
“Neither is Uhtred, Lord.”  
Alfred’s eyes flicked up as he considered the words of the priest.  
“Thank you, Beocca, but I will take this matter up with God.”

***

Uhtred had a feeling he would find him at the altar.  
The warrior slipped into the silent, empty sanctuary, and took up a seat at one of the back benches. He watched the King pray quietly to himself, catching a few of the whispered phrases now and again.  
“_Heavenly Father...thank you for your many blessings…”_  
The face was the same as in the library. That Kingly, cold, facade was down, and in it’s place, a real man--a feeling, vulnerable man.  
Uhtred thought of the days when Iseult was alive, and the baby prince Edward was deathly ill. He and the royal couple had travelled with the pagen queen while the Vikings overtook Wessex. Alfred had been uptight and stony the entire trip--caring, but with his cards held close to his chest--until the very last second. Until Uhtred met him out near the marsh, and he found the King holding his sickly child with his eyes red and filled with tears. His lips trembled as he confided his fear in Uhtred with a wavering voice. That night, the Dane’s heart broke for Alfred. He never forgot what he had witnessed, and always remembered the man beneath the Kingly facade. Uhtred wished to speak with that man again, to witness the lamb at full rest, rather than seeing him at a distance as he did now.  
Alfred’s head tilted upwards toward the large wooden cross before him, and spoke in a voice just above a whisper, “Show me your ways, God. Give me patience with him. And please release me from...from my temptations.” Then he paused, as if trying to think of something else to say. “...In Your holy name, Amen.”  
Temptations? Uhtred thought to himself, trying not to assume what he first thought to be so.  
Alfred stood and turned, stopping short when he saw Uhtred. As if he shapeshifted before his very eyes, the mask of cold indifference came over his face again.  
“Come to confess, Uhtred?”  
Uhtred smirked. “Do you pray for me often, Lord?”  
Alfred would not meet his eyes, but shrugged slightly. “I have always prayed for you. Asking that you be turned from your pagen ways, and that you preform well in battle. Now I suppose I pray for your behavior; that it will be improved.”  
Uhtred smugly crossed his arms. “And of your temptations?”  
“No concern of yours. I believe I remember asking you to keep away from me, Uhtred. Observing me in private prayer is hardly what I meant.”  
The warrior sighed, and craned his neck to where Alfred was forced to meet his eyes. They were such a rich hazel color; Uhtred had never really noticed them before. “About that evening, Lord, you must hear me, I--”  
“It is forgiven,” Alfred said, frigidly, indicating in no way that he actually felt as such, “As that is what God would have me do. But do not think for a second that you can behave in your Dane custom of taking any person you please as a lover without any consideration for anyone but yourself.”  
The warrior stood. “I was not acting on Dane custom!”  
“Then what?”  
“You yourself know well of the power of temptation, Lord.”  
Alfred was silent a moment, looking off in thought as he so often did, then spoke.  
“Then you will pray.”  
Uhtred rolled his eyes and he sat down again, sighing. “I have told you; I do not believe in your God, and I will not. Prayer may mean much to you, but I assure you, it is useless to me.”  
With a sharp voice and not a second of hesitation, Alfred replied, “You serve a Christian king, and I insist you pray. If you truly seek my forgiveness, then you must atone for your sins at the altar. No further discussion.”  
Uhtred was beginning to see that he had no other option. So with a scoff, he stood, and scowled his way to kneel before the wooden cross surrounded by little white candles at the forefront of the room. He knelt there, intending to think about nothing for a few minutes until Alfred was satisfied with his retribution, when the King knelt down beside him. Uhtred turned his head and looked to the other man with confusion.  
“It is customary to clasp your hands,” Alfred said, with a considerably different, more gentle tone to his voice than a moment before. He took Uhtred’s rough, calloused hands and raised them until they were level to his chest. Then, after closing the two together, he held them there a moment, cupping the outside of Uhtred’s hands with his own. The King’s palms were soft and unblemished, clearly more familiar with a writing quill than with the hilt of a sword.  
Alfred glanced up at Uhtred, who still watched him curiously, then quickly released his hands and averted his eyes back down. He closed them, and began quickly mouthing silent words of prayer. The warrior could not help but to stare, partially in bewilderment, partially in sadness, as the Saxon King’s lips moved reverently. A moment passed where they stayed just like that.  
“...Amen.”  
Alfred opened his eyes, looking to Uhtred, catching him watching.  
“Did you pray, Uhtred?”  
“I did.”  
“Good. And do you feel unburdened?” Alfred asked as they stood.  
Uhtred was caught again by the hazel of his eyes, now illuminated by the many candles, making it appear as if stars danced in them. The feeling of his hands still lingered.  
“Perhaps it will come with time, lord.”  
“Yes. Perhaps.”

Alfred watched Uhtred go. Hopefully, this dropped the matter of the evening three days passed. If the warrior were not seeking retribution for his action, why would he have sought Alfred out? It suddenly occurred to him that Uhtred had not necessarily come to apologize.  
He remembered, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, of when Uhtred had come back to the kingdom days after having been a slave. He recalled the relief he had felt when he heard Uhtred had been found, and he called Uhtred to the kingdom to speak with him on the matters of his crime and Ragnar, though there was a part of him that just wanted to see with his own eyes that it was so--that he was saved. He recalled the jolt of surprise he concealed when Uhtred stepped into his library; thin, starved, weak, though still standing boldly as if he were as strong as he’d ever been. The image of Uhtred in that state never truly left Alfred’s mind.  
The Dane had long since recovered, but, as he watched Uhtred walk further and further down the corridor, he realized how frightening the sight had been. He was enslaved due to an order that he, himself, had sent. If he had never had to align himself with Guthred, he would never have had to suffer like he did. Though Alfred tried to forget it, the guilt ate at him. Why, if Uhtred was just another one of the many, many people in Alfred’s service?  
The lion disappeared into the shadows at the end of the corridor.  
_ Why could he not forget?_


	5. An Unexpected Visit: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months apart, Alfred hears some news about Uhtred, and travels to visit him in Coccham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there was going to be more of this but it was starting to get kinda long so I decided to end it here and make it a two-parter. The part in the buhr is basically a heavily condensed script from S2:E6 that shows some inner monologue. RIP canon lol. This is a lil angsty but part two is where the plot will thicken;)

Months began to tick by, and so grew the responsibilities of the King and warrior. Uhtred moved to live in Coccham, which was a day or so’s trip from Winchester, amongst his like-minded friends, who assisted him in overseeing the trade that took place on the river.  
Alfred, of course, remained in the kingdom, and continued to further his plan for securing the borders of Wessex. He had begun successful relations between he and Mercia, and a wedding had taken place for his daughter, Aethelflead, and the young ruler of Mercia, Aethelred. It was difficult to see his daughter married, even more so for Aelswith, the loving mother that she was, but they both knew it was absolutely necessary to secure meaningful ties with Mercia at all costs. Aethelred was a boy of...unique character; young, excitable, and eager to prove himself, though remarkably arrogant and foolish. Fortunately, however, the only issues he had thus presented were disturbances and outbursts during strategy meetings. Alfred supposed it would just be too fortunate to have peaceful discussions in Uhtred’s absence.  
In the months that had passed since Uhtred’s moving to Coccham, Alfred had not heard from him, nor had he sought him out. There were, admittedly, moments where the King spent in ponderous thought about the multiple events that had occurred between them. Uhtred’s relocating had been sudden, and fairly quickly after they spoke in the church. In fact, that had been one of the last times they had spoken, other than the formal meeting they had when Uhtred requested to live in Coccham with his fellow warriors.  
“_I will only be a letter away,_” he had assured Alfred, when the King showed hesitance, “_It is a short trip from Coccham to Winchester._”  
Alfred had granted the request, and the matter had ended. Uhtred had seemed almost surprised that he had, as if he had fully expected the King to forbid it and put up a fight.  
Then Uhtred was gone within the week, and the King’s life grew--no less chaotic--but quieter, somehow. It missed something, not unlike a painting on the wall that went unnoticed until it was removed. It took great pains for him to convince himself he preferred it that way.  
For the first few weeks, the thoughts and dreams plagued him, like ghosts haunting him perpetually, filling his mind with thoughts of the kiss that now seemed so long ago, or the feeling of his strong hands clasped beneath his own in prayer. Even in serious conversation, it distracted him; a little nagging thought in the back of his mind that begged to be considered. In moments alone, he allowed himself to consider it. He wondered what, perhaps, under different circumstances, might have happened between them.  
If Uhtred were not the Great Warrior and Saxon-Dane destined to unite England, and Alfred were not the Christian King of Wessex, but they were, rather, just Uhtred and Alfred; two nobodies from nowhere--what then? What might’ve happened if Uhtred had taken his face in his hands, kissed him, and neither of them were afraid of the consequences? The question weighed on Alfred like a ball and chain manacled to his ankle.  
Slowly, Alfred’s mind freed itself. The dreams became less and less, until Uhtred did not appear in them at all. He became King again, and was able to fully focus on the matters at hand--Sigefrid and Erik Thurgilson. The two Dane brothers were still causing upheaval and a great deal of distress for Alfred. There was constant conversation as to what should be done to be rid of them. But occasionally, the Dane warrior would make his way back into Alfred's mind, just long enough for him to recall the color of his eyes, the seriousness of his face, the strength of his figure.

Alfred was in his library, partially studying his scrolls, partially amusing himself with his spiral of candles, when Odda entered rather abruptly.  
“Odda,” Alfred greeted.  
“My lord, I bring news,” he said, with a hint of graveness to his words.  
Alfred nodded. “Speak, then.”  
Odda sighed, as if unsure how to begin. “Uhtred and his men have been seen killing raiders and have been reported to have hanged a man without trial.”  
“A Dane?” Alfred began to feel his frustration rise. He had trusted Uhtred to live beyond the castle walls with the assurance that he would follow the ealdorman law.  
“No, lord, a Saxon. A man of Coccham, Wessex.”  
There was a lengthy pause, where the King studied the flaming tips of the candles, thinking. Odda stood uncomfortably to the side.  
“Shall I tell you what is alleged to have happened, lord?”  
“No,” Alfred said. “If Uhtred is to break ealdorman law so confidently, then he shall have to explain his reasoning for himself.” The King stood, looking to his advisor. “Odda, prepare my horse and gather a few of the priests. We will be journeying to Coccham by morning.”

***

Uhtred was at the burh when he heard that Alfred had arrived. Finan had rushed in, breathless, as Uhtred sat, sharpening his blade.  
“Uhtred,” Finan called, hurrying in, “You’ve got a visitor.”  
“Oh?” the warrior replied, not looking up from his grinding wheel. “And who is that?”  
“King Alfred. He and some of his men are waiting for you in the hall.”  
Instantly, Uhtred was at his feet, nearly dropping his sword. Why was Alfred coming now? After all these months with no communication? To arrive with no letter or indication was most surprising.  
The months had passed slowly for him, as well. He thought often of the King--thought of their conversation in the church and how it had gone. He knew, then, that he had to be rid of the Kingdom, after he had seen the spite on Alfred's face when he told him he was forgiven for the kiss. He often recalled Alfred's hands atop his, and the softness in his voice when he had asked Uhtred if he had prayed. He knew he would never be able to live in such close quarters with the King without suffering; knowing he could never understand Alfred as he wanted to.  
When he asked to go to Coccham, he had expected some sort of resistance, or argument about the practicality of it to ensue, but there was none. Alfred had listened to his piece, sighed, and nodded.  
"_Very well,_" he had said.  
It could be said that, while he loved living with his men and coming and going as he pleased, a part of him missed Alfred. He was sure the King did not feel the same.  
But why did he visit now?

He and Finan walked to the hall, pushing open the tall door to see Alfred seated at the head of the table, and Odda to his side. Alfred’s hands were clasped on the table before him with a face that was entirely nondescript; a sign that, Uhtred had learned, meant the King had nothing but business on his mind. Alfred himself looked the same, perhaps a bit weary from travel, but overall well. His crown, which he had surely ridden in wearing, was no where to be seen. Despite it, in that moment, the authoritative look written across his face was all he needed to prove he was the King.  
“Lord King,” Uhtred greeted, his voice plain, “Lord Odda.”  
“Uhtred,” Alfred reciprocated in the same manner.  
The warrior made his way to sit opposite of Odda at the King’s side. “I was not expecting you, there’s been no message.”  
“I’m hearing you’ve hanged a man.”  
Uhtred stopped, looking between the King and advisor, finding them both staring back, waiting for a response.  
“I’ve hanged many men, lately. Raiders,” he replied nonchalantly, then adding with an intentional glance at Alfred, “Danes.”  
“And already dead, lord,” Finan added.  
“I’m speaking of a Saxon man, a man of Coccham, of Wessex,” Alfred replied, clearly unimpressed with the response.  
Uhtred fought the urge to scoff. “That is why you are here?”  
Alfred nodded. “Amongst other concerns.” He looked down at the table, then back up at the warrior, who shrugged.  
“The man was a thief, lord. Simple to the bone.”  
Alfred tone flashed with annoyance. “You hanged him without trial.”  
“He was guilty. Three times over!”  
“It is the purpose of a trial to determine guilt. People must witness justice being done.”  
Uhtred sat back in his chair, sighing. Sarcastically, he replied, “Then I will arrange a trial.”  
Odda chuckled. “It is a little too late for that, I’m afraid.”  
Alfred’s tone grew dangerously sharp as his gaze on Uhtred turned to ice. He spoke monotonously and rapidly in the manner he did when he wished not to be interrupted. “There are laws, carefully written laws, and if you wish to remain an ealdorman, you will adhere to them. You shall not impose your pagan ideals within my Kingdom. We are west of Watling Street, not east.”  
The air grew tense in the room. Uhtred, knowing that no amount of arguing would change Alfred’s mind, looked down at the table. “Yes, lord,” he said, like a child being disciplined by his mother.  
“We do not cross over into Dane land; we do not cross over into Dane law,” The King continued, “in body, mind, nor spirit.”  
“No, lord.”  
There was a moment of silence, where Alfred studied Uhtred with the same frustrated gaze, and Uhtred studied the hands in his lap, refusing to look up at the King. Odda and Finan watched from the other side of the table, glancing briefly at each other, unsure of what should be said next.  
Odda cleared his throat. “And the matter of your nephew, if I may, Lord?”  
“Yes,” Alfred said, breaking his stare. “It is my understanding that Aethelwold came to see you, is that correct?”  
“It is,” Uhtred nodded, “He was speaking like a madman.”  
“Was he drunk?”  
“Aethelwold is often drunk, Lord.”  
“I see.”  
“Your nephew is not a complete fool. If he is idle, then could he not help bring order to Mercia? He fought well at Ethandun.”  
Odda laughed dryly. “As he is often fond of reminding people.”  
Uhtred smirked, before saying, “He is as good a man as the child that now leads Mercia. What was his name? Aethelred.”  
Again, the King’s temper snapped. “Uhtred, you speak of matters you do not understand; matters that don’t concern you. Aethelred and Aethelflead have been married. No matter your feelings on him, he is now the husband of my daughter, and thereby has considerable political power.”  
This time, the warrior did not give up the fight so easily. “The safety of Wessex concerns me.”  
“I am happy to hear you say it,” the King retorted sharply.  
“We killed the raiders for the safety of Wessex, Lord,” Finan cut in, “Earl Guthrum’s raiders. They gather at the mouth of the River, in Beamfleot.”  
“We must kill them,” Uhtred said.  
“What we must do is hold the peace!” Alfred barked in response, raising his voice. “War cannot always be the answer!”  
Uhtred looked to him unwaveringly, giving no indication that his tone frightened him. “Forgive me, Lord, but you speak of matters _you_ do not fully understand. Guthrum will not deal with these men, and if they find a lord to serve, they will become an army.”  
Quieting his voice back down to a cold, vexed sound, he replied, “Then answer me this, Uhtred. Where might this Lord come from?” His eyes burned right into the warrior. “Do I know him? Should I fear him?”  
Uhtred scoffed. “You can be sure he will not be called Uhtred, Lord, if that is your meaning.” Glancing from Finan back to Alfred, he took on a diplomatic voice. “My advice, is to send ships and men to Beamfleot.”  
Suddenly, Alfred stood. It was clear he was attempting to tower over the other men, and make himself imposing, but Uhtred was unflappable to his charade. “_We will maintain the peace._”  
He gave one last glance to Uhtred, much different than the disparaging, irritated looks he had been shooting him since they’d been talking. This one was hurt, perhaps sad, in a sense--or grieved. He almost undetectably shook his head, then stormed out. Uhtred was left looking into his mug of ale, wordless, annoyed, and confused.  
“I will speak to him on your behalf,” Odda sighed, preparing to stand.  
“No,” Uhtred said, raising a hand to stop the advisor, “Give him time to calm down. I’ll speak to him tomorrow.”  
Finan shook his head. “I don’t see how you can serve a man that doesn’t see your worth.”  
Uhtred laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, he sees it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two is comin! Thanks for reading! :)


	6. An Unexpected Visit: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred must make amends with Alfred for the previous night's arguments, but first, two brothers with questionable intentions wait for Uhtred at the dock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 2!!! Just a forewarning: while this is definitely an Alfred/Uhtred fic there is a little side Uhtred/Erik/Sigefrid. Sorry if you hate that but it drives the plot sooo T-T  
Anyways hope you enjoy!!

Uhtred went to bed that night and barely slept. He lay motionless as thoughts darted in and out of his mind, wondering to himself a million questions. Had their time apart hardened the King back to the stony frigidness he was when Uhtred met him? The Dane thought there had been a small spring warming over the permanent winter of Alfred’s demeanor just before he left...perhaps he was wrong. But the way he had looked at Uhtred just as he had stormed out of the Hall--that hurt, desperate look that barely lasted half a moment--what could that possibly have meant? Maybe it was just Uhtred’s imagination.  
Everytime the warrior shut his eyes, he saw Alfred in the library, in the marsh, or at the altar. He envisioned that version of the King, and tried to erase the facade he had come to so easily associate with him from his mind.  
He dreamt of Alfred as he had often dreamt of past lovers; except this time it was left entirely up to his imagination. The sounds Alfred might make, how he might plead for more, how he might claw at Uhtred’s back in pleasure, it was all created within his dreams, to which he would wake from in a viciously hot, sweaty stupor with fistfulls of bedsheets in his hands. It was amazing all Uhtred’s imagination could come up with when he hadn’t so much as seen beneath the King’s robes.  
When he awoke that morning, he was in that very state--breathless, writhing, flushed, and in desperate need to see Alfred. Uhtred sat up on the side of his bed, catching his breath and trying to cool his burning skin, when a call sounded from behind his door.  
“Uhtred? It’s Finan.”  
Without actually saying he could come in, his friend came through the door and looked to Uhtred expectantly.  
“Nightmares, Uhtred?” he asked, noticing the other man’s state.  
“Something like that,” Uhtred replied, “Why do you seek me so early in the morning?”  
“Trade ship is here. Thought you’d like to oversee it.” Finan turned to leave, then stopped and spoke. “Did you get a chance to speak with Alfred?”  
“No. I will make time.”  
Finan nodded, then as he left, he called, “You do not want an enemy like him, lord.”  
“He does not want an enemy like me.” Uhtred replied, grinning.

As Uhtred approached the docs, Finan rushed to his side.  
“The ship, lord,” he said cautiously, “there are two warriors aboard with the trader.”  
Looking from Finan to the boat, Uhtred knit his brow and gripped the hilt of his sword with his hand, walking as casually as he could carefully to the boat. Two warriors, here? While the King is present? Uhtred could smell trouble.  
The stout little trader scurried up to the Dane as soon as he strode to the dock.  
“I’ve brought the axeheads, lord. So sharp they could split an oak tree.”  
“And it seems you’ve brought something else, as well,” Uhtred replied, not biting his distraction. “My men saw warriors aboard your ship. Who are they?”  
The tradesman sighed, looking back to the boat, then to Uhtred. “Two northmen, lord. Brothers. By the names of Sigefrid and Erik. They say they know you.”  
At the mention of their names, Uhtred’s blood ran cold. On a mission that was now several months passed, he had been sent by Alfred on one of his many little errands to the Dane-overrun London, in which he clashed heads with the older brother, Sigefrid. They had battled for quite some time, and the powerful man nearly bested him, had Uhtred not lopped off his hand in the last second. It would not surprise Uhtred at all if the brothers had come to take their revenge, but he was not afraid--he knew their weakness. They were much too fond of each other. If you could compromise one, you could defeat them both in the same sword stroke. The brothers would barter foolishly for the other if one of their lives were on the line.  
“Finan,” Uhtred called behind him, “if anything goes amiss, torch the boat.”  
His man nodded, and jogged off to get the torches. Uhtred, with a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, approached the boat and found Sigefrid sitting at the front, picking his teeth with the tip of a dagger, and Erik standing with one foot on the side, pissing into the river.  
When he spotted him, Sigefrid grinned cruelly. “Erik, it appears we have a guest.”  
Erik pulled up his trousers and turned, matching his brother’s expression when he saw Uhtred. “It seems so. Uhtred of Bebbanburg! Here you are, lost in Wessex, once again.”  
“How is it that you keep finding yourself here, in Saxon land?” Sigefrid added.  
Before either of them could say a word further, Uhtred sternly said, “I am sworn to Lord Alfred.”  
The brother’s looked at each other with barely-concealed amusement. Sigefrid now stood, cocking an eyebrow. “Sworn to him, eh?” he chuckled. “Too bad. We know you must prefer Dane land.” Sigefrid grew closer to Uhtred, to where he could smell the scent of ale on his breath. “I know we do.”  
“I am sworn to King Alfred,” Uhtred repeated, the demeanor of the older Thurgilson brother catching him off-guard, “That is why I am here. Why are you here?”  
“Oh, we travel for many reasons,” Erik said in mock-casualness, observing the water of the river, “We thought we’d drop by to see the man himself. We hardly got to talk last time, isn’t that right, Sigefrid?”  
“That’s right. You’re not much of a talker, are you, Uhtred?”  
Uhtred glared between the two men as they both came dangerously close to the edge of the boat, inches away from where he stood on the dock. He gave no response.  
“We did not come to fight,” Erik said, raising his hands to show they held no weapon, “at least, not yet. You see, all we want is the great Uhtred of Bebbanburg on our side.”  
Sigefred reached forward, as if to touch Uhtred, but he flinched away. To this, the brothers chuckled. “Your time spent in the company of Saxon’s does not benefit you. They will turn you soft before you realize. No matter what your King Alfred calls you--both Dane and Saxon--you will always be Dane in the eyes of the brothers Thurgilson. You cannot run from your true blood, Uhtred Ragnarson.”  
“You need to be in the company of Dane warriors once more,” Erik agreed, “Leave your priests and monks and scribes, and join those like you once again.”  
“What if I believe this to be a trap? So your brother can extract his revenge on me for his hand?” Uhtred countered.  
Sigefrid laughed mirthlessly. “We have our ways of...motivating action, shall we say.”  
Uhtred still remained wordless. It was then that Sigefrid once again extended his arm across the space between them, and this time, Uhtred did not flinch away. The older brother dragged his rough thumb gently across the Dane’s jawline, glancing once at his lips then back up to his eyes. A slight, mischievous smirk was across both of the Northmen’s faces.  
Sigefrid retracted his hand and walked back to where he sat, chucking to himself.  
“It is a shame your sword is sworn to Alfred,” Erik said coyly, joining his brother’s side, “We surely could’ve made better use of it than he has.” 

***

The warrior was shaken and confused as he came back from the docks, and intended to go to the burh to practice and think. However, on the way, he saw the King strolling towards him, pleasantly conversing with the priests surrounding him. Odda was at his side.  
“Lord,” Uhtred greeted, approaching them.  
Alfred glanced the Dane up and down, and with a voice that expressed his level of disenchantment, replied, “Uhtred.”  
“Will you join us?” Odda asked, casting Uhtred a look that could not have more clearly stated that if he intended to speak with Alfred about last night, then now was the time.  
“I would like that,” he nodded.  
They walked, the pleasant conversation suddenly disappeared now that Uhtred was present. The King walked ahead of them, shoulders straight, arms clasped ponderously behind his back. Nearly five minutes of awkward silence passed before Alfred suddenly asked in a tight voice,  
“Besides the man you strung up, how many else did you kill?”  
Uhtred took a moment to think before responding, watching his feet as he walked. “We killed about thirty men in total. They had sacked a village.”  
“Which was in Mercia,” Odda added.  
“Lord, we hear the screams at night,” Uhtred replied tiredly, “Mercia is weak. The people have no protection from the Danes.”  
Without hesitation, Alfred corrected him. “Mercia is disorganized, and that will change. There was be burhs.” If the last sentence was a stab at humor or sarcasm, it fell lost on Uhtred.  
He moved to reply to the King, but Alfred suddenly stopped in his tracks, bringing the rest of the group with him. His eyes were fixated to the right of them, his face blossoming into bewilderment.  
“What is that?” he asked, gesturing off in the distance, “That structure, there?”  
He pointed to an old, hastily-built shack with a cross made from sticks standing on the top of it. It’s roof was reeds and it’s red boards were warped, making the whole thing appear to lean. Shrubbery grew up wildly around it, threatening to overtake it.  
“It is a place for prayer, lord,” Uhtred replied, shrugging. He turned his head from the church back to Alfred, and met his eyes.  
Creeping across the King’s face was a smile, one of those rare, genuine smiles that Uhtred so rarely saw from him. It was not a smirk like the brothers wore, nor the empty, fleeting smile of “I-told-you-so” that Alfred had been known to cast towards Uhtred more than once. This was a pleasantly surprised, happy smile that emerged--and with it, so did the Alfred Uhtred dreamt so often of.  
“A church, Uhtred?” the King replied with unabashed, smug delight.  
Uhtred cleared his throat, averting his eyes back to his shoes. “Not quite, Lord. It is a shack with a cross attached.”  
With the same expression, Alfred replied, “If it is for the purpose of prayer, then it is a church.”  
Uhtred supposed there was some merit to that philosophy. “Perhaps you would like some time to pray, Lord?”  
“Yes. Yes, I would like that.”  
Alfred made his way to the shack, and the priests dispersed, leaving Odda and Uhtred to watch the King go.  
“You’ll join him,” Odda said, in a way that sounded more like a command than a suggestion.  
“He will not hear me.”  
“He will, at least, hear you; whether he answers or not is still up for question,” Odda replied. To this, Uhtred scoffed, which made the ealdorman of Devonshire take on a serious tone. “He favors you, Uhtred. He favors you for reasons I do not know nor understand. Any other man of your reckless behavior would have fallen out of Alfred’s friendliness long ago. But you? For some reason, he is always willing to forgive.”  
“If I am in Alfred’s friendliness, I would hate to endure his wrath,” Uhtred said, halfway joking.  
Odda did not laugh. “Do not take it for granted, Uhtred. Go to him.” 

The floorboards creaked beneath the warrior’s feet as he entered the church, trying not to alarm the lone man sitting on the bench closest to the altar with his head bowed.  
“I hear you, Uhtred. Come in.”  
The Dane walked in, taking a seat beside Alfred. “Praying for me again, Lord?”  
“I am praying for myself, actually,” he replied, “for my judgement, and that it be true to God’s wishes.”  
“I see. Then I suppose if I want to be prayed for, I will have to do it myself,” Uhtred said with a teasing grin.  
Alfred, despite himself, smiled as well. Then a silence passed between the men, where they watched the many, many worn-down candles flicker with tiny, shivering lights around the ornamental cross in the center. Again, they had both found themselves alone at the altar, with God being the furthest thing from either of their minds.  
“Odda wanted me to come and talk to you,” Uhtred began, breaking the silence, “about what happened yesterday evening.”  
“Odda is a man who often decides to involve himself in matters that are none of his concern.”  
“You do not want me to speak to you, then?”  
“I know what I want you to say, but I also know you will not say it.” Alfred sighed, looking down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. “I do not understand you, Uhtred. Your beliefs, your ideals, your motives--they allude me entirely, and I am beginning to think I never will understand.”  
“Perhaps you are trying too hard.”  
Alfred stopped, considering the words at hand. Then he turned to look into Uhtred’s eyes. “Why must you challenge me in every public setting, Uhtred? Does it bring you joy to make a fool of me?” His words, for a change, were not sharp; instead they reflected the same emotion Uhtred had caught wind of the night before. Hurt. Confusion. Distress.  
“You will not heed my advice, Lord. It is my duty to protect Wessex. You must understand, I…” He thought of his conversation with the brothers as he spoke his next sentence. “I am sworn to you.”  
Alfred, face barely illuminated by the flickering light of the candles, let his eyes wander up to meet Uhtred’s. His eyes, he noticed, shifted back and forth from his lips. Uhtred looked to the King’s pink, barely-parted lips, and as a test, shifted an inch closer. He was sure Alfred would pull away, but he didn’t. In fact, he, too, came in just a hair’s breadth closer.  
Breathless, Uhtred whispered, “The lamb rests fearlessly beside the lion, Lord.” And drew closer still.  
“But does that make the lamb foolish or brave?”  
Their faces were an inch apart. Alfred had gone still, but allowed Uhtred to brush his lips against his own. He savored the feeling of the King’s soft lips, bumping their lower lips together. This time, Alfred’s mouth opened like the bud of a tulip, pressing his lips against Uhtred’s. A shiver of pleasure went through Uhtred’s body, making his heart pound and his hair stand on end. No more than a second passed, when suddenly--  
“Lord Alfred!” Odda called from outside, just before he burst in.  
Alfred pulled himself away in an instant, pushing Uhtred away from him. Again, he looked frightened. Not angry and afraid, like the first time; just afraid, and something told Uhtred it was not necessarily of him.  
“Lord Alfred,” Odda cried, breaking through the door in a great panic, “We must leave immediately.”  
Alfred stood, as did Uhtred. “Why? What’s happened?”  
“The princess Aethelflead has been taken, Lord.”  
Both of the men felt a sliver of ice go down their spines. Alfred’s eyes were wide as plates as he scrambled for words.  
“By whom?” Uhtred demanded.  
“The Danes,” Odda said gravely. “Come, my Lord, we must make haste!”  
Odda took Alfred by the wrist and began to pull the shocked King out of the church. Just before they went through the door, Alfred made one last glance at Uhtred, eyes wide, terrified, pleading.  
Within the hour, the King and his men were riding as fast as they could away from Coccham, leaving the people who lived there in a cloud of dust, watching the abrupt departure incredulously.  
“Who could’ve taken Aethelflead?” Finan wondered aloud as they watched the horses grow smaller and smaller in the distance.  
Uhtred thought back to the conversation he had with the brothers that morning.  
“We have our ways of...motivating action, shall we say.” Sigefrid had said.  
“I know precisely who it was,” Uhtred said grimly, and not giving Finan a moment to ask who, he continued, “Ready my horse. I have a long journey ahead of me.”


	7. The Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred embarks on a mission to save the Lady Aethelflaed, alone. and encounters the brothers, who make it clear that they want more from Uhtred than just his loyalty. Alfred deals with the news of his missing daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to Honeyfaun XD  
Sorry the update took me so long, this is my first time posting nsfw so i wanted to make sure it was perfect. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SIGEFRID/UHTRED/ERIK NSFW SCENE!!! skip this chapter if you don't like that!!! But if you do, hope you enjoy ;)

Uhtred rode wildly to London on horseback, keeping his destination and plans a secret. His men chased him on foot nearly a mile outside of Coccham, trying in vain to stop him long enough to know at least what his intentions were for taking off so suddenly, but Uhtred didn’t slow down or even spare them a glance as he steadied his eyes on the horizon and made his way to London as fast as his horse would take him.  
“Lord! Lord Uhtred!”  
He heard the voices of his loyal friends calling to him as they tried to follow, but soon their voices faded behind him as he grew further and further away from the village. Part of him felt badly about taking off without giving his men any indication about what his plan was, but if he was honest with himself, he was not entirely sure what his plan was, either. He just knew he had to move fast, and a second spent explaining would be a second wasted. Besides, they would have tried to go with him, and he couldn’t risk any of his men getting hurt when it was only Uhtred who was the matter at hand.  
Sigefrid and Erik were the Northmen brothers who had met him at the dock with strange, unreadable intentions other than the clear desire for Uhtred to come with them to London and fight in their battles. When Uhtred had questioned their motivations, the older brother had chuckled mysteriously and said,  
“We have our ways of...motivating action, shall we say.”  
It wasn’t even the evening before a panicked message came for Alfred through Odda, reporting that the princess Aethelflead was kidnapped. It didn’t take long for Uhtred to put together what had happened, and the second he realized it, he took to his horse and left. The brothers clearly had men waiting in Wessex to take the princess if in the event that Uhtred refused their demands, and now the brothers were likely halfway to London by river. They knew Uhtred would come for Aethelflead on behalf of Alfred.   
The warrior swore to himself as he thought through what it appeared the brother’s plan was, realizing that whether he had said yes or no to their proposition to join their ranks, they would have him. Either willingly, or by force. And here Uhtred rode, right into their trap, knowing he had no choice.  
Though he feared for Aethelflead’s safety--she was a sweet girl; Uhtred had trained with her on occasion--it was, ultimately, the expression on Alfred’s face as he had been pulled from the makeshift church by Odda. With pleading eyes, he had given Uhtred one last look of desperation before he disappeared through the door. By the time the warrior had gotten out of the church, Alfred was mounting his horse and riding off into the distance, back to Winchester.   
It was that look that truly drove him to mindlessly take action and ride alone to London. Whether it had been a plea for Uhtred to take action, or a hasty final glance in regards to what had happened moments before, the Dane knew it was only he that could save Aethelflead.  
He tried to stay focused, but their kiss kept creeping into his mind like a fly buzzing around his head. It had been cut short like the last one, unfortunately, but this time by Odda and not Alfred himself. Nothing could change the fact that the King had kissed him back. He could deny it, and Uhtred was sure he would, but for just a moment, Alfred had melted into the warrior’s lips. He wondered what might have happened had Odda not interrupted them.

***

Only a few hours after Alfred arrived back in Winchester, he was sitting in front of his Witan, trying to discuss what might have happened in his absence. Aelswith was sitting beside him--he had taken a moment to console her, but she was entirely beside herself--trying to maintain some form of composure before the ealdormen. Alfred nearly felt like joining her in her sorrows, but he knew that crying would not save his daughter, only action would.  
A small part of him wished Uhtred were with him. The Dane, while unruly and poorly-behaving during consults and meetings, was a trusted, often knowledgeable advisor during issues that regarded attack. Alfred, while a skilled strategist, was more talented in keeping the peace than disrupting it. But he knew now more than ever that he could not have Uhtred alone with him, especially not in the castle. The Dane had, again, tried to kiss him, and this time Alfred let him. It was like the plot of his dreams coming true, and he wasn’t sure that if Odda had not almost stumbled upon them if he would have been able to stop at just a kiss.  
As he thought on it, Alfred’s skin grew hot and his cheeks burned. Was it shame? Or something else?  
“The heathen must be dealt with, Lord!” cried out one of the ealdormen of the Witan, breaking Alfred from his thoughts. The heathen he referred to were the Danes of London that were suspected to have taken Aethelflaed.  
“The heathen,” Alfred replied with forced calmness, “hold a hostage. Would you have my daughter killed?”  
Aelswith let out a quiet sob beside him, to which the indicated ealdorman briefly looked down at his shoes. “I do not mean to cause distress, Lord King, but if the Lady Aethelflaed was, in fact, alive...surely they would have made clear their demands? We’ve heard nothing as to what it is that they want. This must be a direct attack on Wessex.”  
“They want us supplicant,” the King snapped, “They want us afraid.”  
Beocca, on Alfred’s opposite side, quietly said to placate the rising emotion, “They do not know our faith, Lord.”   
Suddenly, the doors to the throne room flew open, and in entered Odda, cheeks pink and breathless from rushing.  
“Lord Alfred,” he panted, “forgive me for my interruption.”  
“What news, Odda?” Alfred urged.  
“Lord Uhtred was seen leaving Coccham shortly after we did. Alone.”  
“Going where?”  
“We do not know for certain. But it was in the direction of Dane territory, lord.”  
There was a lengthy silence, where Alfred stared straight ahead, barely suppressing a sudden wave of intense anger. He sighed deeply, thinking for a long moment, then spoke with a tight voice.  
“I am wholly tired of the never-ending disobedience.”  
Aethelred, seated off to the left from the throne, scoffed. “I fail to see how we are to succeed against the heathens when we have one in our ranks.”  
“Uhtred has done great things for our kingdom, Athelred; you will not speak so disparagingly of him.”  
The leader of Mercia stood, a look of bewilderment on his face. “He is not to be trusted! He is a Dane with no loyalties to anyone but himself--not Mercia, not Wessex, and most assuredly not you. A worm will always return to the dirt, and your Uhtred of Bebbanburg is doing just that.”  
Alfred jumped to his feet and stared a dagger into Aethelred. “You will be silent!” he shouted, so suddenly that it caused the young king to stumble backwards into his chair.   
“I will deal with the issue of Uhtred’s disappearance later. My concern is of my daughter and her safety. If there are any further concerns about his position, they can be discussed in private.”  
Alfred sat back down, feeling the cautious eyes of everyone in the room on him.   
This was the last thing he needed. How could Uhtred betray him like this? After the moment they had shared? He had given him one request--not to enter into Dane land. And Uhtred, without a second of hesitance, replied, “Yes, lord.” Alfred was so quick to believe that Uhtred would simply obey, that he had learned his lesson, as if the warrior had not defied him a thousand times before.  
How could a lamb possibly tame a lion?

***

Uhtred approached London during nightfall, after a long, tiring journey. He had ridden through the night without stopping, leaving his arse sore and his eyes bleary with exhaustion. His horse was just as bad off, and could barely trot up to the edge of the forest he used for concealment.   
He could see the fires burning bright in the kingdom, glowing brighter and brighter as the sky grew darker. Behind those walls, Uhtred was sure, the Lady Aethelflaed was imprisoned. All he need do was speak with the brothers, and see what demands they would lay in exchange for her safe return. Mercy, he was beginning to sound like Alfred with all his talk of bargaining. It was also in his plan, however, to take Sigefrid’s second hand, should the brothers be in no mood for discussion.  
Luckily, under the cover of night, he knew it would be easy to sneak past the walls. There was a door, often guarded by two men, that was meant as a secret by whomever was in the walls. But Uhtred knew fully well of the existence of this entrance door, and began his descent down the hill on foot, leaving his horse tied to a tree to rest.  
Sword in hand, he snuck to the outer wall, completely imperceptible in the night. He held his hilt against his hip to keep it silent from jingling as he approached the two partially-asleep guards around the door.  
In one move, he slit the throat of the first before he had hardly become aware of Uhtred’s approaching, and with a spurt of blood he fell to the ground, choking quietly. Before his partner could even react to the attack, the warrior dodged the initial, clumsy swing of his sword and clamped a hand over the guard’s mouth so he couldn’t call for help. Then he quickly stabbed his sword into the other man’s upper ribcage, keeping his hand firmly gripped over his mouth until he, too, fell to the ground.  
Now in the clear, Uhtred pulled the door open and continued his careful entrance into the fortified walls. Within, a few fires burned on torches and inside pits to help illuminate the area, but for the most part it was shady in the night. Uhtred was able to sneak silently against the dark back wall, where the few men that still stood about, socialising, couldn’t see.  
He could see a large, tall structure just across the way, where light still poured from the inside. Perhaps that was where Aethelflaed was being held. Deciding to go around the perimeter until he was well out of the firelight, Uhtred moved forward again, careful of the sound of every footfall, until suddenly--  
CLANG!  
The sound of Uhtred’s ankle catching on a spare sword--a stray one, evidently left out by an evening drinker in the shadows against the wall--resonated across the area. In an instant, every eye turned to exactly where he stood. Without waiting around to see if he may have been spotted, Uhtred turned and ran, gripping his sword.  
“Hey! You there!” came the calls behind him, but he didn’t stop nor even turn to see.  
He could hear the pounding footsteps of the men gaining on him. Uhtred hated running. If only he had his own men with him, he could turn and fight like he wanted to. But his desire to save Aethelflaed--his desire to please Alfred--had blinded him.   
Stepping out of the darkness a foot before him, materialized a large, brooding figure. In the light, it was difficult to tell his face, but Uhtred came to a screeching halt.  
“Well, well, well,” the cruel, but familiar, voice said, a grin apparent in it, “do my eyes deceive me? Or is it Uhtred of Bebbanburg? We seem to keep running into each other.”  
The man reached forward and gripped Uhtred’s chin, bringing his face close to his. Now, with their faces just inches apart, the warrior could clearly see it was the elder brother Sigefrid. It seemed sneaking was no longer going to be in order. Fate had led him right to one of the brother’s boots.  
“We caught him sneaking through the far wall!” one of the men behind him shouted.  
“Sneaking in? Is that so? Well, you could have come in banging pots and pans and garnered the same attention, Uhtred of Bebbanburg. No need for sneaking.” Sigefrid face suddenly turned hard. “Unless you’ve something to hide?”  
“I have nothing to hide,” Uhtred snarled, jerking his chin from the brother’s hand. “Where is the Lady Aethelflaed?”  
“News travels fast! We didn’t expect you’d be here for at least another day.” There was a humor in his voice, a certain lightheartedness that Uhtred in no way felt like reciprocating. In fact, it frustrated him that Sigefrid laughed as if they were old friends. The brother waved off his men, and then tossed a heavy arm on Uhtred’s shoulder, firmly squeezing him as if to imply there was no use in trying to get away. “Come. If my brother hears I saw you without him, he’ll have a fit.”

They entered into the main hall, finding the younger brother Erik sitting with a few other rough-looking Danes, drinking ale and conversing loudly.  
“Brother!” Sigefrid said, his voice echoing over the noise, “We have a guest!” He pushed Uhtred forward, and everyone at the table turned their heads to stare.  
The warrior recognized Erik, and it seemed the brother did the same for him.   
“My, Uhtred of Bebbanburg!” he said, standing from the table and striding over to take a good look at him. “We’ve only just returned from our travels this midday. The unfortunate news of Lady Aethelflaed has reached you already?”  
Sigefrid’s eyes shifted to the men that still watched from the table. “Leave us.”  
The men unwillingly all stood, and filed out the doors.   
“I am here to negotiate for her release,” Uhtred growled, once they were alone.  
“Negotiate?” Erik said in surprise, as he and his brother sat down on the bench nearest to where they had stood. Uhtred did not join them, but stood with his arms crossed. “Those Saxons have really got you trained like a dog, haven’t they? Has Daddy Alfred sent you?”  
Sigefrid laughed at this. Uhtred scowled. “He does not know I’m here.”  
“There’s a bit of rebellion in you yet,” Sigefrid grinned. “So--what have you come to negotiate?”  
“I don’t know. What is it that you want so badly from me that you would be willing to go so far as to kidnap the King’s daughter to get it?”  
The two brother’s glanced sideways at each other. “It’s simple,” Erik began, “we want the loyalty of His Highness’s most favorite guard dog.”  
“To be frank,” he brother added, “it troubles us you’d waste your skill on the orders of a Saxon.”  
Uhtred sighed. He had a feeling this would come back up; the foolish request of asking him to switch sides mid-game and make the most powerful man in Wessex his enemy.   
“My sword belongs to King Alfred,” he stated, in a tone that made it clear it was the last time he intended on saying so.   
“Yes, as you’ve mentioned,” Erik stated, nearly rolling his eyes. “What is it that makes you so loyal to him, Uhtred? Do you owe him money? Your life? Land?”  
Uhtred stared stonily at the Northman, offering no answer.  
“Ah.” Sigefrid nodded, with a casual sip of ale. “He’s a good hump.”  
Uhtred sputtered in shock. “He--We have never--”  
“Oh? Could have fooled me. The way you stumble around fulfilling his every command like a man who’s scared his wife may cut him off in bed.”  
Uhtred didn’t know how to respond. His heart pounded and his hands twitched with anger. The casualness of the brothers set him aflame with aggravation. He slammed his fist down against the table, sloshing Erik’s drink and knocking Sigefrid’s clean over.  
“Will you negotiate, or not?!”  
Sigefrid, taking a lingering look at the contents of his cup now poured across the table, abruptly stood and pointed his knife-appendage threateningly at Uhtred. “Did you negotiate when you gave me this?! What do we owe you, that we should negotiate?” He stepped dangerously close to Uhtred, taking him suddenly by the throat with his good hand.  
“I’m tired of talking, Uhtred Ragnarson,” Sigefrid growled under his breath, squeezing Uhtred’s throat so tightly that he couldn’t breathe, “Now you’ll give me what I want.”  
Uhtred sent the brother flying back onto the table with a kick, taking the advantage to grab him by the shoulders and pull him up to where his back was nearly flat against its surface. Sigefrid snarled, gripping the warrior’s shirt collar and kneeing him directly into the stomach, not once, but twice, knocking the wind out of him. The brother grinned as Uhtred faltered, flipping their positions before he could stop him; Sigefrid now hovering over Uhtred, pinning him down with his hands and knees.  
“I’ll show you how much better it is to be the dog of a Dane,” he said huskily, his breath hot on Uhtred’s lips.   
Within a second, he pressed their mouths together, intermingling their tongues and biting Uhtred’s bottom lip. At first, Uhtred writhed and squirmed, trying to break free of the grip, but once Sigefrid’s lips were on his, he went weak, savoring the flavor of his ale-flavored mouth.   
For a moment, he closed his eyes, and pretended it was Alfred with his lips pressed against his own. He was taken back to the church in Coccham, where they had shared a kiss before the altar. Perhaps this is what it might have been like if they hadn’t been interrupted.   
Then Sigefrid’s mouth travelled down, kissing his neck briefly before he sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh, biting down as hard as he could until Uhtred cried out. Sigefrid pulled away, his lips pink and glistening. He took the blade of his hand and ripped it down Uhtred’s shirt, tearing it open and revealing the heaving chest beneath. The warrior whimpered as the Northman began to work off his belt, settling himself between his legs.  
It occurred to Uhtred that Sigefrid was no longer holding him down. He could have pushed Sigefrid backwards off the table and made his escape. But he continued to lay there, panting, watching the other man slide off his belt, and the longer he thought about it the more time passed. Sigefrid yanked down his trousers, and Uhtred realized--he didn’t want to leave.  
Uhtred’s cock was already painfully hard against his belly as it came out into the open, and Sigefrid chuckled.   
“This is much better than negotiation, isn’t it, Uhtred?”  
Uhtred tried to give a mumbled response when he felt the sudden friction of Sigefrid rubbing the length of his cock against his entrance. Whatever he was about to say turned into moan--a deep, guttural one--not begging, but demanding Sigefrid see it through.   
And with that single sound, the brother gave Uhtred exactly what he wanted, and pressed his lengthy, thick manhood into Uhtred’s hole. The warrior cried out, at first in pain at the initial thrust, and then in pleasure as the Northman’s cock slowly slid in and out, stretching him and gaining speed. Uhtred could not stay quiet, moaning and whimpering as shivers of pleasure went down his spine. The feeling of Sigefrid’s massive cock moving within him was giving him unexplainable rapture; making him see stars as he looked up to the ceiling.  
“Harder…” Uhtred begged, indistinctly at first, then choked out, “More!”  
Erik, who had watched the spectacle in silence at first with casual amusement and interest, looked up to his brother with a raised brow.  
“Don’t you hear how he’s complaining?” he said, teasingly, “Your tiny cock isn’t enough for him.”  
“Then…” Sigefrid grunted, distracted by his own pleasure, “Then you shut him up.”  
Uhtred made eye contact with the younger brother, who looked back with a slight smirk as he stood. His pants were tented from watching the other two men for so long, but not being involved. He climbed up on top of the table, settling on his knees above Uhtred’s head.   
“Turn him over. I’ll show you how it’s done.”  
Uhtred struggled to flip over on his hands and knees, panting and whining at the loss of Sigefrid while he repositioned. The elder brother behind him now grabbed ahold of Uhtred’s hips and pounded into him, panting heavily himself. Erik, before him, began to unbuckle himself and removed a manhood almost as well-sized as his brother’s. Without saying a word, he pressed the pink head of his cock against Uhtred’s shining lips, and the warrior looked up, meeting his eyes. Erik raised an eyebrow, and then, without a second further, Uhtred took him into his mouth.  
Uhtred slid between the two cocks, his eyes rolling back in his head, his nails digging into the wood of the table beneath them. He tried to moan around Erik’s large manhood, finding it to come out as a lengthy whine. They moved as one body, like a sweaty, writhing machine as they panted and groaned, the warrior between them bouncing faster and faster against both cocks as he neared his climax.  
Sigefrid was the first to cum, pulling out and spraying Uhtred’s ass with the white liquid as he moaned loudly.   
Uhtred pulled off of Erik’s cock and let out a sob at the loss, he himself just moments before his own release. Just as he did, Erik choked on a moan and covered Uhtred’s face with his own fluid.  
Both of the brothers sat back on their haunches, breathing heavily and sighing, watching Uhtred sit with his legs spread, thrusting his erection into his own fist.  
“I bet,” Sigefrid panted, grinning as Uhtred came with a cry, “your Holy Saxons wouldn’t do that for you.”  
Uhtred didn’t respond. He couldn’t.  
“Where is the horse you rode here on, Uhtred?” Erik asked, re-buckling his pants.  
“The...The forest.”   
“You may go and cut it free, and then return to us,” he said, leaning forward and planting a final kiss on the bite his brother had left on the warrior’s neck. “Then we will discuss your position as the leader of our ranks.”

After Uhtred had cleaned up, he was sent with a slap on the ass to go cut free his horse. As he walked there--or more aptly, limped--he thought. The Northmen brothers were promising him the equivalent of the position he had in Winchester, with all the freedoms that came with the life of a Dane. All he need do was cut loose his horse, turn around, and walk back to Sigefrid and Erik. Then he would have the freedom to come and go as he had always wanted, and, apparently, the promise of being taken by either one of the brothers at a moment’s notice.  
But a thought kept eating at him. He couldn’t help but to imagine the look on Alfred’s face if they ever met again, this time, on opposing sides of the battlefield. The betrayed, hurt look he would give the man that he once entrusted with a sacred kiss, who left him for two brothers that were a good hump.   
Alfred had looked to him for help as Odda had pulled him from the church in Coccham, with pleading eyes, silently begging for him to do something. If Uhtred truly cared for the King, how could he answer that with betrayal? In the time when he needed him most?  
His sword belonged to Alfred.  
And so, when he reached his horse, he did cut him loose--then mounted him, and rode as fast as he could away from London, away from Sigefrid and Erik, and towards Alfred; body aching with pain and heart throbbing with guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...we will return to our regularly scheduled Uhtred/Alfred program in the next update. stay tuned


	8. A Lamb Betrayed, A Lion Banished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhtred makes an unexpected appearance in Alfred's court to recommend a plan of attack. Alfred's feelings of mistrust are hard to get rid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out from a cave, throws you this chapter, goes back into cave*  
So it's been A LOT of months since I've visited this fanfiction, and to be honest I totally forgot about it until I saw the trailer for season four. Then I logged back on the Ao3 for the first time in forever and ever and saw lots of lovely comments asking me to finish this!! So I sat myself down and finished this chapter that I started a million years ago. Life has been cray-cray for me this last little while. I moved, had some relationship, friend, family, and school issues. But things are all coming together! So what better way to celebrate than with an update:) Check the end for some more notes! Please enjoy that sweet, sweet angst we know and love!

It was the wee hours of the morning when Uhtred approached the fortifications of Winchester. Upon seeing him, the guards opened the gates with widened eyes and expressions that seemed both surprised and unsure at the most unexpected arrival. Uhtred wondered what madness had occurred between Alfred’s departure from Coccham and now.  
He hadn’t slept but a few short hours since the news of Aethelflaed’s capture had been delivered. His body still ached from the time he spent in Lunden, from both the physical and sexual altercations he and the brothers engaged in. They had intended to persuade him to join their ranks by displaying their matched power, but even as soon as Uhtred stepped outside the walls of Lunden, he knew he couldn’t stay. Even then--even now--his sword was sworn to Alfred.  
Beocca met him as he put his horse in the stable.  
“My dear Uhtred,” he gently said, his voice having a tense graveness, “you are not seen as a welcome man in these parts.”  
“Beocca,” Uhtred replied, flashing a rogue grin, “Whether the king welcomes me or not has no bearing on the truth that he needs me.”  
The priest was quiet, but nodded. He knew Uhtred would do as he pleased, regardless of his advice. “Be careful, my boy.”

***

Uhtred pushed through the throne room doors, and in an instant, every eye was one him.  
Alfred, flanked by two guards, sat on his throne. A scrawny little boy stood before him with his arms crossed--and based on how punchable his face looked, he assumed it was the Mercian lord, Aethelred. Odda stood off to the side, leaning against a wall.  
“Uhtred!” Alfred said in disbelief, moving to stand so quickly that he nearly tripped.  
“Oh, my God,” Aethelred swore, arms unfolding in surprise.  
Odda said nothing at all, but had a coy smirk on his face as he watched the warrior Dane stride coolly to stand before the throne.  
“Well,” Alfred began, clearing his throat and seating himself calmly, covering his momentary lapse in dignity, “have you come all the way from Coccham just to speak with me?”  
Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “We both know that’s not quite true.”  
“You’re right, it’s not!” Aethelred accused. “You were spotted sneaking to Daneland, alone!”  
“Yes. I negotiated with the brothers Thurgilson.” _Negotiated_.  
“What are their demands?” Alfred earnestly asked.  
“They want my alliance with them, Lord. But I refused. She will have to be rescued by force.”  
“So not only did you add to the problem, you caused it,” Aethelred snorted.  
Uhtred turned to the Mercian, his face stony. “Many people want me as a friend, not an enemy. I would encourage you to consider why, next time you want to speak flippantly to me.”  
“There will be no personal conflict in my court. If you want to fight, do so elsewhere,” Alfred said. “Were you able to assess their strengths?”  
“It has been told to me that they have up to one thousand men, Lord.”  
The insolent voice of Aethelred piped up beside him once more. “We can triple that. Easily. It will be a siege. We can take the river and attack by night.”  
“Countless men will die with that plan.”  
“So?” the young leader shot back. “Men will die anyway. It will hardly be a clean battle, regardless.”  
“I will not see innocent men die over a lack of thought. We need a clear plan.”  
“So let us hear this clear plan.”  
The warrior and the Mercian both looked to Alfred, who still sat with the utmost composure on his throne. He gestured to Uhtred, silently prompting his answer.  
“We attack through the gates. There are two by land. The river runs too fast, and men could not land safely. But if the Lord of Mercia believes that men sinking to the bottom of a river is an advantage, then let him attack.”  
“Uhtred, your advice may be well sound, but how am I to trust it? What was communicated between you and the brothers that I do not know?”  
“Nothing--”  
“How am I to trust you?!”  
“Lord, I am weary of this.”  
“_You_ are weary?!”  
The room went quiet. Alfred and Uhtred stared a hole into each other’s heads. Aethelred stood silently to the side, watching the two, still bristled from Uhtred’s comment. The moment of tension seemed endless, both men daring the other one to make the first jab.  
Suddenly, Alfred looked away, not-so-discretely gripping the arms of his throne hard enough for his knuckles to go white.  
“I must speak to Uhtred alone. Aethelred, you are dismissed. Guards, leave us.”  
Aethelred sputtered. “But Lord--!”  
“I said, you are _dismissed_.”  
With a scoff of disbelief, the young Mercian leader turned on his heels and stomped off with the guards in tow, the sound of his heeled boots echoing off into the distance.  
Uhtred stared intensely at the floor, not wanting to meet the King’s eyes.  
“Please, Uhtred,” the soft voice beckoned, a sharp contrast from his previous tone, “please look at me.”  
The Dane’s gaze slowly traveled up, and saw Alfred sitting near the edge of his seat, leaning forward, looking caught between jumping up and staying seated. He looked so sad; so exhausted, with eyes that burned tiredly with a mixture of hopelessness and disappointment. It was evident he, too, had not slept a second since leaving Coccham.  
“What were you thinking?” he asked, almost as if he were begging for the answer. When Uhtred did not reply, the King rose from his throne, stepping toward Uhtred. “_What were you thinking?_” His eyes were glassy in the flamelight. In his ardence, he looking almost as if he were scraping madness.  
Uhtred’s frustration flared, but with it, shame. The devilish grins of the brothers were fresh in his mind. Looking at Alfred’s defeated face with them in his thoughts made his stomach turn. He could not reply. His tongue felt like stone in his mouth.  
“Say something. Give me your excuse for shaming me in front of my Witan again as I stumbled like a fool to find a reason to pardon yet another instance of disobedience. They already question my motivations for this rescue mission, and then I have to explain away my reasons for keeping a blatantly insubordinate warrior in my servitude.” He shut his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers to his temple. “They call you a heathen. A Dane. I swear to them you are different, but you insist on proving me wrong before them. How many times must I count to a thousand, Uhtred?”  
“My Lord, I was thinking of nothing but Lady Aethelflaed. I went to negotiate for her release.” His tone was even, but firm.  
“Were you?” Alfred shot back instantly. “Could your motives have been that pure? I am beginning to question if you do anything unselfishly. My daughter is kidnapped, Uhtred. My men do not trust me. My plan for her rescue is falling to pieces before my eyes. My wife is in shambles. And then you force me to pace at night, wondering where you’ve gone and why you’ve left? An unselfish man would not do that to me. He would not.”  
As he berated Uhtred, his voice began to wobble, dangerously bordering on tears. The shine in his wide, bloodshot eyes began to pool, and a stray tear fell down his cheek.  
Uhtred carefully took a few steps forward, saying nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Then cautiously, hesitantly, he reached his sore arms up and ghosted his fingertips along Alfred’s biceps, sliding his hands up from his elbows to his shoulders, then down to his back. He pulled the King close, closing the small gap between them.  
At first, Alfred was as stiff as a board in his embrace. Not pulling away, but just standing there, rigid against the Dane’s chest. Every time Uhtred had touched the King, it seemed to be this way; resisting, afraid. But the frost would slowly melt, and he would give in to his craving for the strong touch. It was a downhill fall from there, and he relaxed into Uhtred’s chest, resting his cheek against his collarbone. His hands were pressed to Uhtred’s chest, as if he wanted to push away, but he didn’t. Instead, his fingers gripped the front of the Dane’s tunic, holding onto him like a final lifeline. He felt the King’s back rise and fall with a sigh--but this one seemed different. Tension-releasing. Relieving.  
“I am sorry, Lord King,” Uhtred whispered. He knew “sorry” was not enough. He knew it would never be. But for now, it’s all he had.  
The Saxon didn’t reply. They stayed like that for a long moment, neither of them wishing to let go. The throne room, in that moment, was as silent as a tomb. Part of the Dane wanted there to be some way they could stay like that forever.  
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Alfred asked quietly, his sharp tone having dissipated into a weak acquiescence. “We could have worked something out. I could have sent you with men.”  
“I couldn’t have,” Uhtred softly replied, “You would have forbidden me.”  
“I would have had good reason to.”  
“Because you do not trust me?”  
Alfred lifted his head, still holding on to the other man, but righting his head to look at Uhtred’s face. “Because I can’t bear for you to be hurt. Not anymore. Not for a cause I didn’t issue.”  
“I wanted to save your daughter.”  
“You forget you are just one man, Uhtred.”  
“I can say the same for you, Lord King.”  
“Please,” he immediately breathed, barely cutting him off, “Won’t you call me Alfred?”  
“If you wish, Lord--” Uhtred caught himself, “I mean, Alfred.”  
The King tried for a smile, the end of his mouth perking up ever so subtly, as his eyes flicked away from Uhtred’s gaze. “What did they do to you? Are you hurt?”  
Alfred pulled out of the embrace, taking a step back and assessing the Dane’s body.  
Uhtred shook his head. “Nothing...” The lie burnt his tongue. “Nothing I didn’t bring upon myself.”  
“You are,” the King countered, knitting his brow at a place on the warrior’s neck, which his long hair had been covering before their embrace. He stepped closer again to examine.  
Suddenly, Uhtred remembered Sigefrid’s little gift to him.  
“It’s nothing, Alfred, really--” he lied, trying to pull his hair back around to cover it.  
“It’s…” Alfred faltered, brushing his knuckles softly against Uhtred’s jaw as he carefully evaluated the wound, “...a bite mark.”  
Uhtred looked down, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes. A crease had formed between Alfred’s brows. It seemed, for a moment, that he legitimately did not understand why Uhtred had been bitten by one of the brothers. Then slowly, the line between Alfred’s eyebrows disappeared as his eyes widened, and Uhtred’s heart sank.  
“_Negotiate_, Uhtred? Was this part of it?”  
“Alfred, please--”  
He reached out to touch him again, to placate the distress, but the Saxon jerked away.  
“You will address me only as Lord King, and nothing less. Ever. And you will certainly never touch me again.”  
Uhtred stared at him. There was simply nothing good he could think to say.  
“To think,” the King said hoarsely in disbelief, “that I let you get away with this for as long as I have over foolish, sinful feelings. To think you had me convinced that there was more to you than a Godless, sex-hungry Dane, and I let you kiss me with the same lips that kissed the kidnappers of my child. I have been a fool. And now that’s what my Witan believes me to be.”  
With every sentence, Alfred backed a little further away. Uhtred’s hand still futilely reached from him, though he was far from his grasp.  
“Go back to Coccham. Go back to Daneland. Go wherever the fuck you want; I don’t care. But never, never come back into my sight, or you will wish you had never met me.” Alfred stood by the throne, his face hot with emotions, but his countenance icy cold. He pointed a finger as straight as an arrow to the door.  
“Get _out_.”  
For a single second, Uhtred thought about arguing. He thought about staying right where he was, and getting into a screaming match about who-did-what. But when he looked into those broken, hazel eyes for what he feared may be the last time, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There wasn’t a single flame of fire within him.  
So Uhtred turned his back on the man he loved, and walked through the doors and out of the main gate. He didn’t turn to look back at anything.  
When he went to mount his horse, Beocca came rushing up to him.  
"Stay with me, my boy. I need to speak with you."  
"I'm sorry, Father, I can't. I'm in a hurry."  
"Already? Where are you going?"  
Uhtred set his eyes towards to horizon, gripping the reigns as his horse nickered restlessly.  
"I'm going to Lunden. I've got to save Lady Aethelflaed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, Alfred!! I thought we were finally using our words:( The guys under a lot of stress, can you blame him? I have the rest of this fic planned out, which should be either two or three more chapters to go. Trust me, it will all be worth it!!  
Thanks for all the love<3 And SO sorry for the wait!


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